“I only wanted to talk.”
“I am sure it can wait.”
For a moment, silence hung between them.
Then he looked up at her again.“It can wait, can it nae?”
Ava felt the question land in her chest with a dull heaviness. She had come to him in good faith. She had only wanted to speak. Somehow, even that had become too much.
She nodded. “Of course.”She swallowed as hard as she could while trying to look anywhere but at his face and the dark circles beneath his eyes. “It can wait.”
He had already looked back down by then.
Ava closed the door with care and walked away before the hurt could show on her face. She kept her pace steady, though every step felt foolishly loud to her own ears.
She had not been scolded. She had not even been insulted. He simply saw her as an inconvenience he would deal with much later. By the time she reached Isobel’s room, the sting of it sat sharp behind her ribs.
Isobel was seated by the window with mending in her lap. She looked up at once.
“Well,” she remarked, “ye have the face of a woman who has either been offended or forced to drink bad broth.”
Ava shut the door behind her. “I would have borne the broth better.”
“That bad, then?”
“He is in his study.”
Isobel made a face that said enough. “A dangerous start already. Come sit. I have better conversation than me brother and better manners besides.”
Ava sat opposite her and tried to smile.
Mercifully, Isobel did not pry further.
“Did ye hear,” she asked instead, “that the daughter of Laird Kerr?—”
Ava cocked her head. “Margaret?”
“Aye. Her. Apparently, she has been married for just three weeks and already quarrels with her husband?”
Ava narrowed her eyes, intrigued. “How in God’s name do ye learn about these things? Do ye receive letters from people every day detailing what is happening in their lives?”
Isobel shrugged. “I have me ways. Apparently, Margaret and her husband argued for a long time over the arrangement of their dining table. The maids thought they would burn the castle down with the way they kept screaming at each other.”
Ava let out a short breath. “Only the dining table?”
“Aye. It appears marriage has made her brave.”
Ava remembered Margaret. She and Isobel used to play with her when they were little. Margaret had always been so carefree and full of life. Her mother, on the other hand, had been quite strict. It was no surprise that Margaret had inherited some of those traits.
“Marriage has made herbossy,” Ava commented, eventually. “She merely has one man now who cannae escape it.”
Isobel laughed. “Poor soul. He used to look so proud of himself whenever she entered a room.”
“He looked proud because he thought himself chosen. He hadnae yet understood the terms.”
The conversation moved on from there with an ease Ava had missed all morning. Margaret’s ribbons. Margaret’s cooking. Whether she truly adored her husband or only enjoyed ruling a castle now. The sort of harmless gossip women could use to circle larger truths without naming them at once.
“At least she seems happy,” Isobel said.
